Basics of Austerity
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Even monsters can understand loneliness. And, right now, when desperation is giving birth to nakedity, consolation is found in unlikely sources. – !Shizaya Friendship! ONESHOT


**Title:** Basics of Austerity

**Summary:** Even monsters can understand loneliness. And, right now, when desperation is giving birth to nakedity, consolation is found in unlikely sources. – !Shizaya Friendship!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Durarara, but if I did… well… it'd be just a little more twisted than it already is. And it'd be Rated M. And Izaya would be a pole dancer at a club. And Shizuo would be a pimp. And Celty would have the ability to fly. And Mikado, Masaomi, and Anri would be sexy hobos. –Just kidding!

**Author's Note**: This fic is very random, but I gave it a shot! Review if this fic doesn't royally suck! That is all, thank you.

…

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The illustrious informant sat in his swivel chair, propelling himself with his legs and spinning in a childish manner. Laughter, mad laughter bubbled from his mouth as he flung his arms out in a wild gesture of grandeur. "Oh, what fate is bestowed upon my beloved humans today?" He questioned rhetorically, allowing his laughter to die down as he abruptly replaced his mirth with a show of boredom. "My, my, I lack entertainment. 'Bukuro seems to be having a dry-spell of amusement, and Namie, my wonderful assistant, is not around to poison me today."

The dark haired man heaved an exaggeratedly fictitious sigh, stealing himself from his seat and approaching the over-look window. It was large and granted him a view of the city, a spectrum of neon amongst a textured scape. He smiled down upon the population, looking at them as a child might look at insects, feeling almost godlike at this altitude.

"Rather dull, isn't it?" He spoke to no one in particular and received no answer, so he continued to ramble. "Makes no difference to me if it's quiet. I'll just find other ways to play, for all of life is a game if one cares to know the rules. And this city is but one tiny square on a much larger checkerboard."

With those words, he pressed his hands and face to the glass and looked at the beautiful city below. He was so far away from his precious humans but, then again, he felt even further from them when he roamed the streets and merged with their crowds. After all, he was a player, and they were mere pieces, and he was meant to tower over them; he could never _be_ one of _them_. No matter how much he tried, he would always stand out - always be above and hovering, waiting to call shots that they expected him to orchestrate.

A strange embitterment consumed this particular intel-merchant, and he tore away from the edge of the city, opting to walk back to a small table and hover over an actual checkerboard littered with various gaming pieces that represented his favored individuals.

A sad smile slipped into place and he wondered if he was feeling lonely.

Motionless, this man stood, hovering over the board, smiling, but that smile could never reach his eyes. His eyes, red as liquid copper, served as a barrier between his emotions and reality.

Because his reality wasn't full of actuality. His reality was full of faeries, valkyries, dullahans, and a plethora of bullshit. His reality started with _Once Upon a Time_ and ended with _Valhalla_. His reality was hilariously dramatic, like some parody of a listless Broadway show.

And it was with a small sigh that he flicked a game piece off the board and watched it cascade to the ground before bouncing and skittering away. One by one, the other pieces followed until the board was bare, riddled only with the faintest of scratches over checkered tiles.

Life was one theatre that he was slowly tiring of, and every new game seemed to be a variation of one he'd already played.

"But, the show must go on!" He joked loudly, painfully aware that he was the only one capable of hearing this outburst. He flailed his arms and twirled about, leaving his gameboard and pieces behind as his eyes came to rest on his phone. He retrieved said phone and looked at it almost lovingly, for it had aided him time and time again; it had always been there for him. Then again, it was just an object of communication. It was a tool, and he utilized it on a daily basis as he discovered, recovered, and exposed statistics, facts, and figures to an undeserving public.

An ugly scowl claimed his face in a most unceremonious way as he threw his phone to the floor with as much force as his slender muscles would allow; he then proceeded to stomp on said phone. Up and down, he bounced on the breaking instrument of communication. He jumped and hopped, ascended and descended. He elevated and slammed his feet onto the phone until it was in several pieces and thoroughly destroyed.

A fresh smile lit his face like a candle, though his eyes portrayed a lazy demeanor and his mind was razor-sharp.

"That was fun, but I'm bored again." With that, his eyes found the window and looked to the city beyond. "'Bukuro, Bukuro, wherefore art thou, Bukuro?" He spoke with a lilting voice as he turned away from his designated office, taking a short stroll to a neighboring all-purpose room and seating himself comfortably on a plush sofa. "I want sushi," he said to himself offhandedly.

Just then, a loud crash met his ears, though he didn't look to the source. After all, he was an informant, and he knew everything… And, everything he didn't know, he either found out or pretended to know. And he was just convincing enough to get away with that. So, instead of jumping to attention at the clamor, he remained stoic and composed, deciding to wait for the source of sound to come to him.

Lo and behold, it did. The crashing sound was that of a door being forced off its hinges and into a wall, and the _boom-booms_ of thundering footsteps followed, shaking entirety of the building's foundation.

In mere seconds, the informant found the loud intruder within his sight. "Shizu-chan, my, my, what a pleasant surprise this is. I wasn't expecting company, and I haven't trolled you in nearly a week. To what do I owe this honor?" His face had twisted into something rather demonic; his eerily red eyes practically glowed in the dim lighting.

The intruder, a blonde man in a bartender's gettup, snorted and sneered like a raging bull. "Fuckin' louse! Damnable flea!" His anger was evident as he closed the distance between himself and the informant, fisting the fabric of the rather famed fur-lined jacket and drawing the dark-haired fiend off the sofa and up to eye level. "IZAYAAA!" He drew the name with a venomous cadence to his voice; the tone steadily rose until it was nearly a howl.

"Ne, Shizu-chan, today is not a day for this. Break my apartment if you want but I'm in no mood for a chase." The words were spoken in a rather calm tone; the silken voice was devoid of its usual malice.

With confusion clouding his vision, the blonde slowly loosened his grip and eventually released the informant. "What's your angle, flea?"

Izaya simply shrugged in a show of nonchalance. "Don't you ever get tired of the same song and dance?" His eyes bore into that of the blonde brute's. "I don't feel like doing this anymore."

"What?" The expression on Shizuo's face was priceless, but Izaya found no joy in seeing it.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Shizu-chan. I crave variety, and you are offering the most disgusting form of monotony. You're constantly chasing me out of 'Bukuro and getting violent over the slightest gest; it's unethical and rather dull."

Shizuo simply huffed, trying to contain the beastly anger that swelled within him. "IZAYAAA! I'm here, aren't I? In Shinjuku – _not_ Ikebukuro. And I'm not getting violent, and you are not provoking me. This is far from normal."

The informant allowed a small smile. "I suppose you're right, Shizu-chan."

"One time."

"Wha?"

"Just once, call me by my full name, flea."

"Shizu-o?"

And the blonde let out a crooked smile. "Good job, flea." With that, he tossed himself onto the sofa and seating himself next to the dark-haired data-dealer. "Nice place. Bet it costs a pretty penny, huh?"

Izaya couldn't hide the flabbergasted look on his face. The Beast of 'Bukuro was in his apartment and behaving in a civilized manner? That was not normal. That was… in a way… _fascinating_. The blonde monster never ceased to catch the informant by surprise, and perhaps that's why he felt the urge to provoke him so often; perhaps he craved that little bit of attention that came from fighting the anomaly that was this man.

"Flea? Are you listening to me?"

Izaya huffed and experimentally scooted closer to the blonde. "Of course I'm listening. Unlike you, I have a normal, non-protozoan brain."

And Shizuo laughed; it was a low, rumbling sound, like a predator's growl. "I miss this." A smile settled into place as he matched the silent challenge and inched his way closer to his rival, closing the distance between them as their knees bumped and their legs made the slightest contact.

"Ne? Shizu-o? What is it that you miss?"

For the longest time, no answer came. Izaya almost began to wonder if the blonde was avoiding the question or if he simply forgot. He was just about to let out a snarky jeer when the other's words fell upon his own ears. "I miss… friends. I miss being able to sit next to someone and talk to them without them cowering away or expecting something bad to happen."

Silence.

Izaya mentally mused on the phrase: _Silence Is Golden_, and he couldn't help but think that whoever came up with it was full of shit.

Of course, it was Shizuo who broke the silence. "Y'know, I still hate you, you damnable flea."

And for the first time in ages, Izaya let a genuine smile settle over his features, lighting his cheeks and dancing in his eyes. "Ne, Shizu-o, I hate you and your protozoan brain."

The two of them sat in silence once more, neither quite knowing what to say or do in this situation.

Then... "I like cats," said Izaya absentmindedly. When his brutish rival looked at him quizzically, he elaborated. "I like cats because they're independent and graceful; they can thrive with or without humans. They are adaptable in ways that even I am not."

Shizuo nodded, mentally making a note of Izaya's appreciation for felines. "I don't mind cats, but I won't go out of my way for them."

"My favorite color is white," Izaya said, gradually easing into the idea of conversing.

Shizuo quirked a brow at hearing that. "I never would have guessed."

"I like white because it is the only color, if you qualify it as a color at all, that is capable of displaying any and all other colors without tarnishing their glory. If I were a color, I'd be black, the anti-counterpart of white. I love humans, but I ruin them. In a way, I'm like a kid who keeps breaking my own crayons."

Shizuo looked thoughtful before frowning, finding a strange connection with this oddly sincere version of the flea. "I don't like any color; it's too trivial and pointless."

Izaya sniggered. "_Trivial_? That's a big word, Shizu-o."

"I like when you use my name rather than that annoying nickname."

"Oh?"

Another low, rumbling laugh. "Yeah, it ends with the letter 'O'."

And again, there was silence. But this time, the silence was rather comfortable. An anonymous amount of time ticked away before the blonde debt collector got to his feet and smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothes. "Sorry for breaking your door in; I'll pay to have it fixed."

The informant said nothing.

Shizuo reached a hand up and ran it through his own bleached tresses. "So, uh, I guess I'll see you around, flea. Stay out of 'Bukuro…" The last line was thrown in casually, holding absolutely no malice, and a small awkward blush dusted the blonde's cheeks before quickly vanishing. He turned away and made for the exit, but not before the informant's voice reached his ears.

"Shizu-o?"

"Yeah, flea?"

"Don't worry about the door. I have money. I'll fix it."

"…'Kay." He tried, again, to leave, feeling a strange and confused sensation in his chest.

"Oh, and Shizu-o?" The dark haired man was still using the unnaturally extended version of the blonde's name. He waited 'till honey-colored eyes met his own ruby-colored ones before adding. "Under the floor mat, please, take the spare key with you. I expect to see you again. _Tomorrow_. And I don't want my door broken again."

Confused, Shizuo reached down and pushed his hand beneath a decorative floor mat, easily finding and retrieving a key. _The_ key. The key to _Izaya's_ luxurious abode in Shinjuku. "Thanks, flea," he murmured, trying to keep the astonishment out of his voice as he slipped said key into his pocket. Once more, he turned to leave, but…

"Oh, and Shizu-o? One more thing."

"Yeah, flea?"

"Use my name too. No nickname. No yelling. Just… call me _Izaya_."

Hesitantly, the blonde nodded. "Alright, I-za-ya, I'll see you tomorrow evening. We'll talk again." And, finally, he left. The dark-haired informant didn't call him back again, didn't shwick out a blade or make crude comments. No. None of that.

They'd had a rather pleasant evening. And, Izaya couldn't help wondering… Maybe Shizuo wasn't a monster after all. But, he seemed too special to be labeled a human, so… where did he fit in? He was left to ponder this, unaware of his own cheeks heating up as he realized that he'd requested the blonde's presence again.

He tried to convince himself that his concern for the predated visit was for his destroyed door, but that little attempt proved rather futile.

Still, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the debt-collector _was_, indeed, _a_ _monster_. And… Maybe they were _both_ monsters? And maybe… just maybe… they could co-exist after all.

…

Later that night, Shizuo would receive an email:

_Ne, Shizu-o,  
__I enjoyed our time together. Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Also, just thought I'd give you something to think about since you seem to respond to my honesty… I wanted to tell you that I miss having friends too – or, at least I'd miss it if I ever really had any friends to begin with. In truth, I used to draw faces on fruit and talk to them, pretending they were humans. I know it is silly, but I never wanted to be alone. The very idea is terrifying for me.  
__Perhaps that's why I try so hard to love humanity… because there's always the slightest chance that they'll love me back. Oh well, Shizu-o. Humans might not love me, but I'll settle for your friendship instead, ne?  
__-Sincerely,  
Izaya Orihara: The Ultimate Anti-Human  
__P.S.  
__Be here at 9 o'clock sharp, and remember to use the key. It's the little metal thingy that fits into the lock. Haha!_

_..._

Shizuo read the email three times to make sure he'd read it correctly. For some reason, it made him glad to know that Izaya was familiar with loneliness. –Not because he was vindictive enough to wish pain upon the flea, but because it was nice to know that he wasn't the only one who felt like they didn't belong. And, it was with a simple smile and a roll of the eyes that he carefully replied to the email:

_izaya, i'll use the key this time. see you tomorrow.  
__p.s.  
__i'll be your friend, so stop whining about being lonely and shit; grief makes you look like a pansy._

…

_END_

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**/Random, really. I wrote it all with whimsy. Has no real plot. Soooo… wha'cha think? Review please!/**


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